[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/4zEf6qn.png[/img]
[sub][@Rune_Alchemist][@Aerandir][@Guilty Spark][@Asuras][/sub][/center]
As he strode through the streets, following a trail only he could feel, Qantz-Farron removed his lantern from the folds of his clothing. With a jerk of motion, the collapsible lantern popped out into its box like form, and the man lifted one of the glass panes to slot in a candle, then ignite it with a flick of his fingers. It was still daytime, no one’s eyes so weak as to require illumination, but this act was done regardless. He held it in his left hand, and with a confident stride, continued through the streets of the Cliff, lips parting at the darkly curious sights that were abound.

Makeshift obstructions for sinkholes that went deep into the earth. Potholes filled with mudwater, the most accessible toilets around. The squalor of the sentient, desperate yet dignified, brought low by the civilization they still tried to grasp. His eyes slid over the diverse crowd, but he offered no coin.

The trail grew stronger, the taste thick against his tongue. Qantz-Farron stopped at the mouth of the alleyway, turning to see who had followed. His gaze settled on Sera. [b]“First door in,”[/b] he spoke. [b]“There’s a stockpile.”[/b]

Things would be more difficult if the gang produced or stored their drugs away from their base in the sewers, but this wasn't an unwelcome surprise, regardless of what happened next. His lantern flickered aimlessly as Qantz-Farron stepped back, allowing the woman with many knives to do her own work.